


Mercy Not Granted

by tinktheloser



Series: Percy Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinktheloser/pseuds/tinktheloser
Summary: Fenris looks on as Hawke decides Anders' fate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little snippet for my custom Hawke, Percy. Because I had a lot of feelings about it and needed a vent. Enjoy.

Fenris could count the number of times he’d seen Percy Hawke angry on one hand. Her grasp on her emotions was so tight he sometimes thought she would suffocate in her own grip. Any negative emotion was veiled behind a quirk of her lip, a sly comment, a scathing remark. When she couldn’t fight with her fists or her staff, she lashed out with her tongue.

Occasionally, though, irritation would crackle the air, a faint spark of her lightning magic that would often quickly deescalate the situation, save for the bullheads that didn’t heed the warning.

Other times, Fenris could feel the crackling current of her electricity across his skin. It was never directed at him, but at those that had truly pissed her off. One instance was with the blood mage that had taken Leandra. Hawke had almost ripped him in two with the sheer force of her lightning.

Though, it had been when Danarius had come to collect him that Fenris had nearly seen her lose that tight control, had filled the air with brilliant flashes of cold fire. And yet, at that last moment, she’d tightened her grip again and tucked her magic away, all so Fenris could deal the final blow.

But Fenris could safely say that he had never seen Hawke like this, as she faced Anders, the mage she’d truly believed to be her friend.

Hawke was a gentle touch, a breathy laugh, a sly smile. She was the smell of dogs and tea, an eager kiss on the cheek, a soothing stroke of her fingers through your hair, and a bad joke to distract you from more bad life choices.

But here, she was a pinpointed rage, her shoulders stiff, her face like stone, and her eyes ablaze with cold fury.

She didn’t deserve this, Fenris thought.

“There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already said to myself,” Anders said. He was sitting down, facing away from Hawke, as though he couldn’t bring himself to consider her icy gaze. But from the slump of his shoulders, he could certainly feel the weight of it.

“Is that so?” Hawke responded in a clipped tone.

Fenris clenched his jaw. He had a few choice words for the mage, but Hawke deserved the first go.

“This is the justice that _all_ mages have awaited,” Anders was saying, as though it were an explanation.

Fenris heard Hawke’s sharp intake of breath.

“Justice,” she repeated, too quietly. “Did _Justice_ tell you to do this, the spirit?”

A pause. “No.”

Fenris glanced at Hawke’s fingers. Beads of sparking light were dancing around her clenched fingers. She was trying to hold it in, he realized, but even Hawke had a breaking point.

Then, she spoke again, and Fenris was startled by the sheer emotion.

“Anders, how _could_ you?” Hawke demanded, with anger and hurt smothering her voice it might have choked her. Sparks flew, and she hissed as she grappled to reign it in. “All those people—there were refugees in there, praying for _safety!_ And—you _used_ me. For slaughter.”

Hawke quieted, as though she was just realizing the horror of her statement. She’d been used for the last thing she’d ever wanted to happen. Now there was innocent blood on her hands, and Anders was the one to put it there.

Fenris’ fingers twitched. Aveline gave him a sidelong glance, a small warning, to which he nodded. He wouldn’t move just yet. Varric, on his other side, breathed slowly through his nostrils. Fenris felt bad for the dwarf. He’d been close to Anders as well, supportive and friendly. But Varric would also let Hawke take this, as Varric often did.

“I made a _choice_ , Hawke,” Anders said. He didn’t turn around. “It was the only thing left to do. Something had to happen, people must choose sides. It was justice.”

“ _No_ , Anders!” Hawke slashed the air with her arm. A streak of electricity fizzled from her hand. “ _This_ ,” she gestured to the blazing ruins of the Chantry, “is not justice. _You_ do not get to decide who dies for the Maker damned _greater good_.”

She was shouting now, the air thrumming with the current of her magic. Fenris’ tattoos glimmered in response, though he tried to hush the flow of the lyrium.

“Then,” Anders said, disquietingly hushed. “Perhaps the final justice will be served with my death.”

Hawke flinched, as though she’d been slapped, or dealt a blow just below her ribcage.

Then, the thrumming current _cracked_.

“How _dare_ you,” Hawke said. Her voice was quiet, but uttered in such a vehemence that Fenris thought her own tongue might strike lightning as well. “First you lied to me, and manipulated me to go on some fool’s errand—because I thought I could _help_ you. But no, I’m just a fool for trusting you.”

Anders twitched, a small flinch that gave away the sting of that remark. Good, Fenris thought.

 “Then you used me to kill _hundreds_ of people, innocent and guilty alike with no fucking discrimination,” Hawke went on, her voice rising in pitch. “And now you want me to end your life, for the sake of some depraved sense of _justice?_ ”

Anders finally looked up. “It would only be right,” he murmured.

“Oh _fuck you!_ ”

Fenris wanted to brush off the magic that was dancing on his skin, as it was irritating the lyrium, but he made no move to. Hawke needed to feel this, to process, to decide.

But then, she turned around, her fists clenched and her jaw set against the trembling in her shoulders. She glanced over at the group—himself, Varric, Aveline, Isabela, even Merril— huddled in the corner, awaiting her decision. Fenris saw when her eyes landed on his glowing tattoos, and the effort it took to swallow back any more words she might have had.

Hawke breathed, slowly, unsteadily, and ran a shaky hand through her hair as she fought to recover the magic she’d released. The glow in Fenris’ tattoos faded, just a little.

“Fucking hell, I don’t even have time to yell right now,” she muttered bitterly, and then said to them, “I don’t think I’m fit to make a decision. What—what do you all think?”

Isabela was first to respond, and Fenris wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not at her answer. Of course she’d appreciate an explosion. Aveline thought Anders should die, Merril wanted him to live, and Varric was just tired.

Hawke looked to Fenris. He obliged an answer.

“He wants to die,” he said, not quite able to mask his own spite. “I say grant it to him.”

Hawke sighed and was about to turn around when Fenris added, more softly, “But Hawke, this is your choice. Don’t let it be made in anger.”

Honestly, he was one to talk, considering the only thing he wanted to do was rip out the mage’s heart and smash it to pieces. But it was something that she’d taught him over the years. Perhaps she needed reminding.

Hawke looked at him again, peering at him with an unreadable expression, before nodding and turning back to face Anders, who stood to face his judgement. His lips were pursed in a grim line, but he had the nerve to stand straight, almost proudly.

“Maybe you do deserve to die,” Hawke told Anders. She looked towards the Chantry, the blazing ruins of what was left. “But—that would be a mercy for you, one that I’m not willing to grant.”

Fenris gave Hawke an odd look, but she continued.

“I’m not going to kill you.” She turned back towards Anders and approached him until she was in his face. Anders almost looked afraid. “You—you’re going to help me clean up this mess, this mess that _you_ made. You’re going to protect the rest of the mages of this city, the ones whose lives _you_ endangered. If you think I’m going to clean up after you, you can fuck off to the Void with Justice in tow.

“And then—,” she jabbed a finger at him. “If we survive tonight, I never want to see your face again. Are we understood?”

Anders opened his mouth, wavered, then closed it again and nodded. Pain and relief warred in the tight gauntness of his face. Fenris looked away. He didn’t want to pity him, as he deserved none. But Fenris did wonder, if only for a moment, just how much Anders had ripped himself apart in this desperate act, to lose his only friends and support for a justice he believed black and white?

Fenris shook his head. Anders would live for now. If he made it past tonight, he’d be cursed with the life of guilt and regret Hawke had granted him. It was crueler than a “just” death, he realized. It was practical, because now they still had a healer on their side. And yet Fenris had the feeling that Hawke, even as she still tried to contain the irritated sparks that danced about, had made this decision out of spite.

He could almost hear how she’d phrase it.

_Fuck you, you get to live._


End file.
